


Freestyle Verse

by neveralarch



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Coda, M/M, Past Abuse, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, authority kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27689024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: It should've been easy. It was after hours in the Primal offices, and Prowl had free reign over Jazz's own rarely-used office. He'd locked the door, installed Jazz in the largest, most comfortable chair, and tucked himself under Jazz's desk with Jazz and his chair pulled in tight against his front. He'd expected that Jazz would understand what to do next.Jazz rubbed his hands over his thighs. He bit his lip. He completely failed to look Prowl in the optic.A coda for DesdemonaKaylose'sI'm All Full Up on Yesterdays.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	Freestyle Verse

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'm All Full Up on Yesterdays, Don't Sing Me No More Blues](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742622) by [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose). 



> A little coda for Dez because I love her fic and I _needed_ messy Jazz/Prowl pnp to go with it, haha.
> 
> This fic contains explicit sex (pnp), authority kink, and past abuse of authority. Please let me know if you need details.

"Just put your hands on my head," said Prowl.

Jazz's hands hovered, frustratingly close. Prowl crushed the urge to grab them and put them where he wanted. It would defeat the purpose if he had to take control.

"I just," said Jazz, stumbling uncharacteristically over his words, "I don't wanna—"

"I want you to," said Prowl, firmly.

Jazz looked helplessly down at Prowl, who was on his knees and had _been_ on his knees for nearly ten minutes without any particular success.

It should've been easy. It was after hours in the Primal offices, and Prowl had free reign over Jazz's own rarely-used office. He'd locked the door, installed Jazz in the largest, most comfortable chair, and tucked himself under Jazz's desk with Jazz and his chair pulled in tight against his front. He'd expected that Jazz would understand what to do next.

Jazz rubbed his hands over his thighs. He bit his lip. He completely failed to look Prowl in the optic.

"You _know_ what I want," said Prowl, unable to hide his irritation.

"I'm getting an inkling," said Jazz, still shifting uncomfortably. "I mean—I know you and your captain had a, uh, a—"

"It's not uncommon to have a—" Prowl couldn't put a name to it either. If he was putting it down in an ethics report, he'd call it an 'abusive workplace dynamic and routine interfacing despite the impossibility of freely given consent.' He didn't like applying those words to his own situation, no matter how well they fit. "Didn't you ever interface with anyone at your precinct?" he asked, instead.

"Yeah," said Jazz, abruptly going still. "Once or twice. Not much, though, not as a regular thing. Undercover, remember? I didn't spend a lot of time around the brass, not if I could help it. No one around to tell me I was doing a good job, they were proud of me, and then shove me against a wall and tell me to open my ports."

Prowl shivered, and his hands tightened where they rested on Jazz's knees. He probably shouldn't find that appealing, but—

But Prowl _had_ spent a lot of time around the 'brass.' He'd been a favorite of three separate captains, prized for his case record, his attention to detail, and his tendency to stay after shift to get work done when most of the other enforcers had gone home. He looked good on his knees, too. He knew because all three of his captains had told him so. Barricade had been especially enamored of Prowl's... assets.

"Prowler," said Jazz, softly. "You know—it's not right, what they do. Taking advantage of how you're, how we're wired."

"Yes," said Prowl, because he did, he hadn't needed Jazz to tell him. It did not, however, change that ‘wiring.’

It would be entirely, _easily_ possible to drop this. Prowl didn't work in the precinct anymore. Barricade was no longer a captain. Prowl and Jazz had a wonderful relationship as equal partners, which evidently meant interfacing by reciprocal connection while lying down in a berth.

The Prime's chief medic, Ratchet, had even made a discreet offer to remove what he could reach of Prowl's compliance coding. Prowl had told him he would consider it. He suspected that Ratchet had expected more grateful enthusiasm at the prospect.

Prowl... _wanted_. He wanted to be told that he was doing a good job, that Jazz was proud of him, and, yes, shoved against a wall and told to open his ports. There was nothing like the heady rush of praise, lighting up dedicated areas of his processor and making his circuits sing. If he could have that from _Jazz_?

"I'd enjoy it," he said. "If it was you."

Jazz's motor rumbled, just a little, before Jazz cut it off. "Prowl, I'm not gonna take advantage of—"

"It's not taking advantage if I tell you what I want," said Prowl. He took a steadying vent, arranging his thoughts into something more concrete than just a desire for a feeling. "I want your hand on the back of my head while I lick out your port. I want you doing paperwork and ignoring me, until my tongue is sore from overuse. I want you to tell me what a good subordinate I am, and when you're charged enough I want you to order me to plug in and make you overload. Can't you manage that? For me?"

Jazz made a face.

Prowl abruptly felt overheated, embarassed, _stupid_. He tried to get up, and jammed his doors against the underside of the desk. His sensors jarred, sending shocks up and down his spine. He snarled and went to push Jazz's chair away, but Jazz caught his wrists.

"Hey, hey," said Jazz. "Calm down, babe, c'mon. I didn't mean—you just caught me by surprise tonight, that's all."

"Caught you by surprise." Prowl snorted. "I asked you to meet me in your office for an 'intimate conversation.' What did you _think_ was going to happen?"

"I dunno." Jazz sighed. "Was kinda hoping you'd bend me over the desk, call me a naughty overgrown Prime, and shove my face in that fragging epic of a memorandum from Megatron I've been avoiding for the last two weeks."

"Oh," said Prowl. And then, belatedly. " _Two weeks_?"

"Guess we both got a bit of that authority kink, huh." Jazz ran his hands up Prowl's arms, to rest on his shoulders. "Programmed in. You really want this?"

Prowl's mouth went dry. "Yes," he mumbled.

"Gotta sound a little more certain than that, darlin'," said Jazz. "I wanna hear you ask for it again, I liked hearing that."

"I never had to ask for it before," said Prowl, feeling mulish. It was true. His captains had only cared that he was attractive, well-coded, and available. His own attitude about the situation hadn't mattered at all.

But Jazz was making that face again. Prowl cleared his voicebox.

"I mean," he said, picking his words carefully, "I mean, yes. I do want it. I want you to hold my face against your port. I want to be made to like it. I want you to take your pleasure, and tell me I'm good at giving it to you. Just. Just tell me I'm good."

"Yeah, that's a familiar fantasy." Jazz's lips quirked, the ghost of a grin. "Little bit of being useful, little bit of praise. Bet the whole Prime thing makes it even better, right? No bigger authority than the chosen of Primus."

"Yes," said Prowl, and then took a moment to consider it. He'd had no interest or attraction to the previous Primes. Nor even to his captains. Those events had simply happened to him. He was _choosing_ this. "I only want it because it's you," he said.

Jazz didn't say anything for a moment, but then he let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, I bet. I've seen the statues. Bunch of old fuglies, the Primes. You're lucky the matrix decided to go young and hot, this time."

"I'm lucky it's _you_ ," insisted Prowl. "Please. I want you."

Jazz's hand wrapped around the back of Prowl's helm. "Me," he muttered. "Wild."

Prowl leaned in a little and, when Jazz didn't stop him, nuzzled at the array cover on Jazz's inner thigh.

"That's right," said Jazz, voice a little rough. "That's a good detective."

Prowl had wanted the praise, but he hadn't _expected_ it. That was his only excuse for why his vocalizer spat static and why he stared, open-mouthed, up at Jazz.

Jazz smirked, though Prowl could detect an edge of uncertainty around his optics. "Well?" he said. "You're smart enough, you know what I want."

Prowl dropped his optics down. "Your array's closed, sir."

"Yeah, sure," said Jazz. His fingers drummed a little beat on Prowl's helm. "I'm waiting for a reason to open it."

Prowl didn't need any more prompting. He ducked his helm and licked over the cover, long wet strokes that left Jazz's plating glistening. Jazz hummed when Prowl flicked over the upper seam, so Prowl concentrated his attention, sucking hard like he was trying to open the cover by force.

Jazz's fingers tightened. Prowl opened his mouth wide and panted against Jazz's thigh, feeling oral solvent spill down his chin.

"Pretty picture," said Jazz. "I like seeing eagerness in a subordinate. Shows willing. You _are_ willing, aren't you, Prowl?"

"Uhuh," said Prowl, muffled by Jazz's array cover. He couldn't help rubbing over his own cover on his hip, just to soothe the itch of charge.

"Detective," snapped Jazz. "Did I say you could touch yourself?"

Prowl's hand jerked away, and his efforts with his mouth redoubled.

"That's better," said Jazz. His accent was shifting, becoming crisper, more polished. Like he'd just stepped out of officer school. "You're a good worker, you just need a firm hand. You have to learn when to concentrate, you can't spread yourself too thin."

Prowl tried to say 'thank you, sir,' but it was unavoidably garbled when his tongue was occupied. Jazz seemed to appreciate the sentiment anyway, at least if the gentle stroke of his hand on Prowl's helm was to be believed.

"Yes," said Jazz. "Much better. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

He didn't wait for an answer before sliding his array cover open. Suddenly Prowl's tongue met soft rubber socket, pliable and yielding. If he pressed deep enough, really stretched, he could almost taste the clean metal of Jazz's contact points.

"Very good," said Jazz, pressing Prowl hard against his thigh. "Get in there. I want my port dripping when you jack in."

Prowl's spark jumped. Anticipation, nervousness, arousal swirled in his fuel tank and made his hand shake where he was gripping his own knees with the effort of not touching himself. Of course Jazz wanted him to jack in, that was what captains always wanted, but—

Well, it was a lot of responsibility. To be responsible for another mech's pleasure. To keep your charge running through your jack in quick, even pulses, pushing your partner to overload while your charge slowly drained, leaving you weak and shivering on the floor...

Prowl moaned into Jazz's port.

"You like that?" murmured Jazz. "Mm, of course you do. Such a good detective. Get your jack out, I want to see it."

Prowl fumbled with the cover on his hip, still focused on licking out Jazz's port. His jack unspooled easily, cable already warm with charge. Jazz took the jack from Prowl's trembling hand, rolling the tip between thumb and forefinger.

"Not bad," he said. "It's a little thin, but I guess the important thing is what you do with it. You _do_ know what to do with it, don't you?"

Prowl couldn't speak with his tongue buried in Jazz's port, but Jazz didn't wait for an answer. He pulled Prowl back from his port, and plugged Prowl's jack in himself.

All of the overwhelming charge that had built up in Prowl's frame began to dissipate, flowing away without a reciprocal connection. He dared to rest his helm on Jazz's knee, unable to suppress a whine.

"Oh, slag," gasped Jazz, dropping abruptly into his natural accent. "That's _good_ , Prowler. Frag, you really did like it. All this charge for me?"

"Yes." Prowl tried to modulate the rate of transfer and failed—he was too keyed up, too overwhelmed. He offlined his optics and pressed his face against Jazz's leg instead. "Everything for you."

" _Frag_." Jazz's hands were trembling as he laid them on the back of Prowl's helm. "You're _so_ good, babe, real good, the best, oh Primus—"

"Thank you," mumbled Prowl. "Thank you, thank you, thank—"

Through a reciprocal connection, overloads were shared, rebounding into nearly inconceivable heights. Prowl much preferred this—feeling Jazz shake apart under and above and around him, spilling praise with every shudder, until there was no charge left and they were simply holding each other, Prowl's lips pressed to Jazz's knee, Jazz's hands on Prowl's helm.

It felt better than anything Prowl had ever had.

\---

"You wanna overload?" slurred Jazz, when he'd recovered enough to speak again. _Frag_ , it had been good. He was pretty sure he'd popped a breaker in his hip.

"No," said Prowl, already stowing his cable away. "I'm satisfied. My previous captains rarely allowed me to overload in their presence."

Aw, damn, there it was again—the cold guilt that made Jazz's energon freeze in his lines. "Babe," he said, awkward and hating it, "I'm not—I'm not your _captain_. Right? I mean, play's one thing, but it's not for real."

Prowl looked up at him from his knees under the desk. "You're the Prime, Jazz."

"I know I'm the Prime, but—" Jazz shoved his chair back, suddenly desperate to pace. "I dunno, I try to be careful, I don't wanna pressure anyone, I don't wanna pressure _you_ , but maybe I'm doing it just by existing? You'd tell me if I was—frag, who'm I kidding, you'd tell me anything I wanna—"

"Jazz." Prowl was on his feet, standing in Jazz's way and catching Jazz's shoulders when he tried to go around. "We went over this. I _want_ you. I wanted this, with you."

"Yeah, but." Jazz's processor felt like it was all twisted in knots. "We didn't really _negotiate_ slag, did we? You just told me to take advantage of you, and I did. Sure seems like we know our roles."

Prowl's mouth twisted. It would be so easy to slip away from his hands, but Jazz found himself hesitating, watching Prowl's face, waiting to hear what he'd say.

"I apologize," said Prowl, at last. "I should have communicated beforehand. I am not... used to communicating."

"Yeah, I bet not," muttered Jazz. "Why talk about interfacing when you can call it mandatory team bonding instead?"

Prowl nodded. "Did a captain ever ask you to..." He let it trail off, then began again. "I thought perhaps not, since you were an undercover detective, as you said, but—"

"Yeah," said Jazz. "Yeah, once. Wasn't for me. It felt good, but I didn't like the way it fragged with my processor."

"No," said Prowl. "Neither did I." His hands tightened a little on Jazz's shoulders, then released. "It's different, with you. I know you care for me as a mech, not as a convenient subordinate. I hope you know that I care for you too. I enjoyed our... play, tonight. Thank you for indulging me. We needn't try it again."

Jazz figured he should feel relieved. But he'd _seen_ how much Prowl enjoyed it, hadn't he? And, yeah, it had felt amazing. Jazz wasn't _immune_.

"I'd do it again," said Jazz. "I mean. If you give me a bit of warning."

"Oh?" Prowl smiled—the small, secret smile he saved for Jazz. "I can do that. Would you like me to warn you before I bend you over the desk and shove your face in a memo?"

Jazz's engine skipped. Frag, was he really building charge again?

"Yeah, let's pick a time for that," he said. "How about now?"

\---

(It was another couple weeks before Jazz got around to answering Megatron's memo. It didn't help that the screen had gotten cracked. Bless Prowl for his enthusiasm.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please let me know! You can also share it on [tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/635613094082691072/freestyle-verse-neveralarch-transformers-all), [twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1330992652276420614), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/111239.html).


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